Two-Minute Warning for Moms

The Precambrian era lasted nearly 4,000 million years long, but that’s nothing compared to the amount of time it takes for my wife to say goodbye to people. I believe this is a shared maternal trait, which is why I’ve created the Two-Minute Warnings for Mom.

I love my wife, and you would too if you met her. She is one of the most giving, generous, loving people to ever walk the planet. However, her abundance of love, caring, and indefatigable worrying sometimes can hinder progress.

Consider this dialogue I overhead as my son was heading out the door:

“Good-bye, son! I love you.”

“Love you too mom.”

“Be careful!”

“Ok, I will.”

“Text us if you’re going anywhere else.”

“I will.”

“Love ya!”

“Love you too, mom.”

“Oh, be careful, ok?”

“Ok, mom, I will.”

“See you soon!”

“Ok, see you.”

“Be careful and remember, we love you!”

The trip my son was embarking on was a 35-foot journey to end of the driveway to get the mail. Junior didn’t get to the mailbox until the next day, and the mailman had already made the rounds again.

My family was nearing the breaking point, and I needed to act quickly. Which is why I implemented the two-minute warning for Moms.

Get ready, Mom. You’ve got two minutes.

The two-minute warning follows the same protocol used by the National Football League. When the family is two-minutes away from leaving, a time-out is given, which serves as notice to all moms that they will have two-minutes to deliver their “I love yous” and “be carefuls.”

At a family meeting, the two-minute warning was approved by a 3-1 vote (guess who dissented.)

I was so overjoyed by this prospect, that I posted notice of it on Facebook. The two-minute warning went viral, as dads from all corners of the globe agreed it was a brilliant idea.

But as we all know, you should never underestimate the power of a woman scorned.

The day after the landmark vote, my son announced he was going to get the mail. He sounded the two-minute warning with a smile on his face.

My wife, instead of berating him with “I love yous” and “be carefuls” ran upstairs. We heard some rummaging from our room, and then she was back down, standing next to us with something held by behind her back.

I counted down the two-minutes, and as the clock hit :01, my wife pulled a pair of handcuffs from behind her back and slapped one my boy’s wrist, the other on hers.

“Ok, honey, I love you,” she said.

The boy shrugged and headed out the door, dragging my wife behind him like one of the nuclear power plant protestors.

When I looked down the street, I saw sons and daughters dragging handcuffed moms behind them. On the news, it was reported that mothers were being dragged through shopping malls, to movie theaters, and outside to get the mail.

In the end, I think kids can rejoice. Yes, the two-minute warning didn’t work exactly as planned, but at least you’re getting to movies and the mailbox on time, handcuffed mom and all.